Some of us
have been a tad delinquent toward their collection of
iron disciplines geared to mental balance, order and
calm, which could well be why some of us amble into the
morning with the sure sense that our head is about to
explode. Not the first time, might not be the last time,
and I have found that one route out of this limbo is to
tidy the room where I spend far too many hours of my
day. A room which, as it currently appears, might give
the casual observer the distinct impression that your
correspondent struggles with what might be politely
called the compulsive disorder of hoarding, and which a
grandmother might still refer to as an appalling case of
bone idle boy-child slovenliness. A wonderful word with
its origins in the Flemish for dirty, careless,
neglectful and which I'd argue without any traditional
evidence probably joined the perversities of the English
language following the challenges to the Anglo-Saxon
lifestyle that resulted from the Norman invasion of the
English part of the British Isles toward the end of the
eleventh century, an event that figures up there as a
tragedy on a par with the defeat of Carthage by the
cheating Romans at the Battle of Zama.

The
argument against tidying up is the straightforward
suggestion that after the deed is done a person can't
find anything, and discovers himself dwelling upon the
end time as he wastes valuable energy hunting down his
pencil sharpener, last years birthday card, his socks
and his important notes. The argument for tidying up is
primarily devoted to offhand moments such as "what might
others think when confronted by this kind of unhygienic
chaos?" And there's always the more cheerful prospect of
finding useful things that have been lost and forgotten
since the last tidy up. More interesting perhaps, of
those who struggle with obsessive compulsive disorders
one in four males of our species attempt to conceal the
disorder in bone idle slovenly hoarding behaviors. And
worth recalling is the recent movement in idea around
the word "slovern" which when used in the more youthful
vernacular gives a description to boys suggesting
behaviors that better resemble the looser loyalties
found in an emerging presidential quality which when
traditionally applied to girls would earn the title
slut. Either way, it's been a long haul, a difficult
ride along somewhat suspect paths, but there's
absolutely no way I can accept the possibility of
admitting to a presidential quality, so I'm pretty sure
that any day now I'll be tidying my room.